A Church is Burning
by Kuailong
Summary: Heero is quite sure there is something about Duo Maxwell. His world gets turned upside down when Duo is critically injured during a mission, and being the Perfect Soldier while dealing with new emotions is not easy. With the guiding force of the other pilots, maybe this will work out for the best.
1. Where There is Smoke, There is Fire

They were running, escaping the Oz base. The mission had gone tail end up fast, and Heero glanced over his shoulder to make sure Duo was keeping up. Not that he cared, he told himself, because he didn't. The other boy was not growing on him, and he wasn't going to touch that. Especially not at that moment. Still, Duo was keeping up rather well, and Heero knew Duo could surprise him at any moment. The boy was full of surprises, and whenever Heero expected Duo to fail in some sort of capacity the braided boy would swiftly turn the situation around. It was something Heero could appreciate. Competence was an excellent trait, one Duo had despite the silly exterior.

Duo stared in amazement at Heero as they ran. Heero was aesthetically pleasing, that was obvious. But the other boy was frighteningly competent. Duo knew he was no match for Heero Yuy, but a kid could dream, even though Duo was positive Heero was as straight as could be. After all, didn't he have that obnoxious Relena girl? Another loud explosion sounded behind them and Duo pushed himself to go faster. Keeping up with the Perfect Soldier was hard enough, but hiding minor injuries while doing so was even rougher. Out of the corner of his eye there was a flicker of metal and Duo's instincts kicked right in. He booked it forward and shoved Heero to the ground. He turned, pulling out his gun, but he was far too slow for the two Oz soldiers. He felt the fiery pain rip through his chest and he staggered back, swearing violently. He barely took time to aim before firing off a round in the direction of the soldiers. He wasn't sure he had actually hit either of them, but he knew Heero would be on his toes even as he collapsed onto his knees. He pressed his hands to his wound, watching out of the corner of his eye as Heero took out the two soldiers. So much for efficiency; he'd managed to get shot, and in the chest too. He felt that tell-tale tickle in the back of his throat and nearly groaned. He would have felt an exit wound, so that meant he had a lovely new addition to his body that wasn't exactly wanted. He suppressed a cough, knowing full well it would only cause more pain and more blood. Definitely a lung, then. Lovely.

He braced himself against the floor with one arm, the other pressed tight against his chest. Finally, he looked up to find Heero standing over the two, now presumably dead, guards. He dropped his head again, staring in morbid fascination at the blood dripping despite his best efforts to stop it. Yeah, this was bad. He must have lost some time then, because suddenly he felt Heero crouching beside him. Without speaking, the other pilot grabbed his unoccupied arm and slung it over his own shoulder, dragging Duo up with him.

"We need to move," was all the other pilot said. Duo nodded, stumbling forward when Heero started jogging towards the carrier bay. Thankfully, they were still on earth, and not terribly far from Quatre's compound. Still, Duo was doubting he could make it there. They didn't have their gundams, and Duo was really hoping that there was at least one plane or carrier in the bay. He kept a hand firmly pressed against his chest, yet despite that he was leaving a trail of blood. Thankfully, they didn't meet much resistance. Finally, they made it to the bay. That's when Duo's knees finally gave out, nearly dragging Heero down with him. Yeah, that wasn't good.

"'Ro, just go," he ground out, still suppressing the urge to cough. He was already struggling to breathe, and he was slowing Heero down and possibly compromising the mission. But the other pilot said nothing and dragged Duo to his feet, easily supporting him and hauling him into the nearest plane. Duo continued to protest quietly; it wasn't that he wanted to die, because he didn't. But the mission was bigger than him, and for all the joking around he did he knew that. Still, Heero was a stubborn guy. The other pilot propped him against a bench in the plane, and headed towards the cockpit. Heero had to pick this little puddle jumper. Duo kept a hand pressed to his chest, trying really hard to ignore the puddle of blood growing beneath him. He could no longer suppress the urge to cough and he started doing just that in force. Yeah, coughing up blood was not in his top five favorite things. He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand and used that hand to steady himself again the floor as the plane launched into the air. He was struggling to stay conscious; he took to biting his lip to do so. New, different pain to focus on, and he tasted blood. He wasn't sure if it was from the blood welling up in this throat, or if he had actually bit through his lip. He was startled by the sound of a gunshot, just one, and he really hoped Heero had been the one doing the shooting. His vision fogged out for a moment, snapping back into focus as the other pilot kneeled next to him.

"Gunshot?" Duo ground out, hoping Heero would understand the whole question contained in that one word.

"Shot the tracking and navigation box. We don't need to bring Oz to Quatre's doorstep," the other pilot said, laying down a med kit and opening it. Duo nodded, laying his head back.

Heero frowned. There was an awful lot of blood, and Duo's shirt was soaked when he touched it. The second pilot was losing too much blood, the Heero could tell just from his first glance. There was also blood on Duo's lips, and Heero's frown deepened. Heero gently moved his partner's hand out of the way. He pulled out a knife and sliced right through Duo's shirt, expecting some sort of protest. It worried Heero that there was none. He peeled back the soaked shirt; he had grabbed what he could to clean the blood off, but he wasn't quite sure he had enough cloth. He couldn't see the damage very well, and he needed to. What he could see, though, made him a little nauseous. Blood bubbled out in tandem with Duo's heaving breath, and Heero internally swore. A lung, then. They were a good twenty minutes out from Quatre's compound, and with Duo with a sucking chest wound Heero was beginning to doubt things. Still, he plowed forward. Heero dug through the medical kit, sincerely hoping it was complete. Oz kept good med kits, Heero had learned, including basic equipment for gunshot wounds. He finally found what he was looking for: a piece of clear plastic and some medical tape. Not much, but it was exactly what Heero needed at that moment. He proceeded to clean as much of the blood off Duo's chest as he could, allowing him to see the wound clearly. He taped the plastic down, leaving one corner free. Working around his partner's heaving chest was a little difficult, but Heero did the best he could. Duo continuing to breathe was what mattered at the moment. He knew there wasn't an exit wound, which could either be a good or a bad thing. He shoved a clean piece of cloth in Duo's hand and placed it back over the wound.

"Keep pressure on it, and stay awake," the Japanese pilot ordered, waiting for his partner to respond. Duo opened his eyes and nodded, satisfying Heero enough that he stood up and headed back towards the cockpit.


	2. Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

As Heero sat down in the pilot's chair, he fired up the radio. He had to do some quick rewiring, but he was fairly sure it would reach Quatre's unique frequency. He was rewarded with the radio crackling to life and a somewhat familiar voice. It was one of the Maguanac Corps, Heero could tell, but he wasn't sure which one. The voice demanded to know who he was.

"This is Pilot 01, I need to speak with Pilot 04," Heero said, glancing behind him to check on Duo. He frowned at Duo, who seemed to be occupied with hacking up a lung. There was silence on the radio, which Heero hoped was an affirmative answer. It was, and moments later Quatre's voice rang through.

"Heero, you're a day early, what happened?" Quatre asked, and Heero hesitated for a moment.

"Mission went south. You have medical facilities there, right?" He wasn't sure, but it was their best bet. A public hospital would ask too many questions.

"We do. Heero, are you hurt? What happened?" Quatre was beginning to sound a little distressed, and Heero knew his answer wouldn't alleviate the other pilot's worry.

"Not me. Duo's been shot. Can you have a team standing by? Our ETA is fifteen," Heero replied stoically, glancing down at the navigation to double check his answer. He frowned at the sounds of wet coughing behind him.

"Duo? We can, but how bad is it?" Again, Heero knew how bad his answer would sound. But the information had to get out. He glanced down at the instrument panel again, trying to word his answer so it wouldn't worry Quatre too much but would still convey the severity of the situation.

"Chest wound. Nearly positive the bullet hit a lung, he's lost a lot of blood." Heero's reply was short and to the point, there was no helping it. He couldn't hide the facts from Quatre, not really. Not with Quatre's special abilities and the fact that the other boy could always tell when Heero lied. Even hundreds of miles apart. Heero checked the panel again, to make sure they weren't being followed. He would have done so sooner, but he had been distracted. He cursed himself, even as Quatre's voice crackled over the radio.

"Heero … Is he going to make it?" The question soft, Heero barely made it out over the radio's natural static. His voice caught in his throat, lie to set Quatre at ease, or tell the truth and likely send the other pilot into a panic. A year ago he wouldn't have had to make this choice; a year ago he wouldn't be jeopardizing a mission to save a comrade. A year ago, he didn't have comrades. Friends, his mind supplied. Friends. Something he never expected to have. So lost in his own thought process was he, he didn't hear the first few times Quatre called to him. The third time, however, he caught it. Quatre's voice so laced with worry, he cringed.

"I don't know. I'll do everything in my power to get him there, though." He spoke with conviction; this was another mission, another operation. If he thought about it that way, and not in terms of his friend, maybe even the boy he had feelings for, dying or living, maybe he could do this. The back was suddenly quiet, and something within Heero lurched. He quickly glanced down at the panel; there wasn't much time before he had to manually pilot the plane to land it.

"We'll be there soon," Heero said suddenly, cutting off the radio. He wasted no time in returning to the back, and something inside him shifted. Duo had slid to the side, and there was no movement. Heero stumbled forward, straightening his partner on the floor. He pressed shaking fingers to Duo's neck, trying to still himself. He shouldn't be shaking this much. He firmly pushed down on his panic, locking it away, and pressed two fingers against Duo's neck. He waited with bated breath, not daring to move in case he missed something. But there, it was faint, and thready, but he wasn't … Heero shook his head. Not the time for that. He pressed a palm against the other pilot's chest, just to double check. You always double checked. There was no movement.

They all had first aid training, enough to care for themselves and just a bit extra in caring for others. Heero honestly had never expected to use this particular skill, never figured he'd care enough or that he'd even be able to save anyone. It was war, and he was a terrorist. There was no denying that. But he remembered vividly what he had to do, and he had limited time to do it. Between landing the plane and Duo running out of time, he had no choice. He leaned down and ran his hand over Duo's mouth, trying to wipe as much blood away as possible. He didn't even take time to wipe his hand off; he dove directly in. He straightened his partner's head and tilted it back, he was already down on his knees, and he leaned forward. He didn't think he would ever forget the taste of Duo's blood; it would haunt him for years to come. The rest really was a blur; he knew what he was doing, but he viewed it all through a haze.

In the background he heard the proximity alarm from the instrument panel, but he couldn't stop, not now. Thankfully, shortly after the alarm had started sounding Duo bucked under him and started coughing, and everything snapped back into focus. He quickly sent a thanks to whatever god was watching over them as he turned Duo over and watched the other pilot vomit blood. That was a damned lot of blood. But Duo was breathing, if extremely laboriously. He ran bloody fingers through Duo's bangs, calling the other pilot. There was no response, but Heero really didn't expect one. He did his best to prop Duo up so he wouldn't choke on his own blood, because damned if he was letting Duo slip under again. He quickly moved back into the cockpit; they were minutes out from the compound, close enough he had to immediately start the landing process. He radioed ahead for the okay, and was surprised to hear Wufei's voice come back through the radio.

"You're clear, Yuy. Get in here," the Chinese pilot said, and, while Heero knew the other could not hear his nod, he nodded and radioed back assent. He didn't have time to explain what had just happened; he was focused on landing the damn plane. The runway was short, but thankfully he had taken a small plane. For someone used to piloting shuttles and a gundam alone, a little plane earth side was little trouble. He landed without incident and taxied the thing into the hangar. Wouldn't do to leave an OZ plane in plain sight. After that, he didn't care. He let the damn thing sit there, moving to the back and checking Duo over once more. Still breathing, which was all he could ask for. He scooped the other pilot up and kicked the release for the door, hands being full. The other three pilots were waiting for him, but he had one objective. Just as Quatre said, there was a med team waiting and Heero reluctantly relinquished Duo to them. He watched them roll Duo away; he was tuning out sounds, and he didn't want to hear what they were saying. If he could keep this level of disbelief, maybe he wouldn't break down in front of the three people that needed to see him as the Perfect Soldier. He didn't jump when a hand was laid on his shoulder, but he turned sharply to look at Wufei. The other pilot was looking at him oddly, as if appraising him. It took Heero a minute, but he realized what pilot 05 was doing.

"I'm not hurt." He said, lacking the conviction his voice usually held. Wufei looked at him a moment longer, that peculiar look still in his dark eyes. It was Quatre that explained things, always Quatre.

"You're covered in blood Heero, and there's ..." the blond pilot paused, and Heero looked puzzled at him. "There is blood on your lips." Oh. That explained it. He looked stricken for a moment before answering Quatre.

"He stopped breathing," he said simply, though it wasn't that simple, and he could tell that his attempt to reach his normal level of indifference had failed, because both Wufei and Trowa were giving him odd looks. Quatre just looked … like he wasn't surprised. Like he knew Heero's world was falling apart and that Duo was the cause. That damn smirk like he just _knew_ what was going on. Heero wanted to turn away, wanted to try and save face. But suddenly, he was just tired. He was done playing, done trying. His shoulders sagged but he managed to stay upright. Quatre was at his side immediately, shoring him up. Heero turned to Quatre and tried to speak, tried to say something, but he blinked and felt darkness envelop him.


	3. Fire Warms the Coldest Hearth

Heero came to slowly, not his usual alert wakefulness. This kind of waking up usually meant he had overtaxed something, and as the past few days hit him, he realized why. He had passed out, there was no denying that. Three days without sleep and emotional turmoil tended to drain a person, even if said person was a trained soldier. Before his eyes opened, he wasn't stupid; even waking slowly, he had trained senses and instincts: he could tell there was someone in the room. But he wasn't tied down, and his last memory was of the other pilots safe in one of Quatre's compounds. It took him a minute, but he identified the other person as Quatre. He finally let himself wake visibly, sitting up and turning to the blonde pilot.

"Heero! Good, you're awake!" Quatre was the only other pilot that could come close to Duo's exuberance. Duo. Shit.

"Duo?" He asked cautiously, unconsciously using the pilot's first name. Quatre looked at him knowingly before shaking his head, but in a confused manner, not … bad.

"We don't know, you've only been unconscious for about an hour. Trowa and Wufei are waiting for us. Would you like to go wait with them?" Heero nodded, already swinging his legs over the bed. He was tired, not lethargic, and it was mostly relief at reaching their destination that had caused the black out. Again, somehow Quatre knew this. Well, not somehow. The third pilot had that weird empathy that the rest of them just took for granted. It was war; they each used what they had to do what they needed to. And Duo and Quatre were close, anyway. Wufei had once mentioned to him the two people less suited to war than the rest of them had banded together. But Wufei had never had a close mission with Duo; Heero knew that Duo was more suited for this war than the rest of them. There was a visible change in the second pilot that one only saw when they were up close. Fought near him. And the nightmares. Duo would jerk awake, and Heero could tell the other boy stifled his screams. The movement generally woke Heero; there were too many unanswered questions about the braided pilot. Too many unknowns. And yet Heero found himself inexplicably drawn to the other boy, as if some guiding hand was directing him to what his soul sought, what he needed.

Quatre looked like he might have hovered if Heero had shown any sign of distress. In fact, the blonde boy was looking at Heero oddly, not quite the knowing stare, but a puzzled look. Heero grunted. He was pointedly trying to tamp down on thinking about his feelings for Duo Maxwell. He needed to focus on the here and now and the wellbeing of a … friend. When Duo recovered, not if, he wasn't going there, no, when Duo recovered, maybe Heero would bring it up. Maybe he wouldn't, because the mission came first, and he had nearly jeopardized it to see Duo to safety. Quatre didn't look convinced, but the other pilot led him out into the hallway. Heero had a sneaking suspicion that Quatre was going to force things, and for some bizarre reason, Heero couldn't decide if that was what he wanted or not. What he wanted had never factored into things before, why should it now? But he was fifteen, didn't he deserve a little bit of happiness? But it could jeopardize the mission, he was the Perfect Soldier after all, it was what he was trained to be. His mind ran in uncertain circles the entire walk, until he finally started paying attention to his surroundings and found himself in a small room; it looked like a waiting room. There were a few chairs scattered about, someone had clustered a few in a corner, out of the way. This was where Wufei and Trowa were perched, alert for it being well into the night. But they were all soldiers and trained to adjust sleep schedules to suit their needs. Quatre nearly guided Heero to a chair, but it didn't bother the Japanese pilot much, he was headed there anyway. Quatre turned to Trowa.

"Any news?" The blond asked Trowa, the latter throwing a quick glance at Heero.

"No." Heero cast his eyes downward, startled to find he was wearing different clothes. He touched his face. They must have cleaned him up. He wasn't sure if he should be concerned or not; if he couldn't trust the other pilots, well, he'd be back where he was before. Alone. He used to think that's what he wanted, where he belonged. But this ragtag group of teenagers had shown him something else, and he was going to cling to it with all of his strength. He would see them all through this war, he had reasons to see the end of it himself now. Or, at least, he hoped he did. And they all fed off each other's strengths and weaknesses so well. He ignored the rest of Quatre and Trowa's conversation, but he felt eyes on him. He turned and faced Wufei, trying in vain for that indifferent scowl he usually wore. He couldn't seem to dig it up; he just felt tired and drained, and he suspected his face showed that because the expression on Wufei's face was not something he usually saw. Concern from the Chinese pilot, and something else Heero couldn't quite identify.

"How did he get shot?" The fifth pilot asked, and Heero paused. He really hadn't thought about that, and he flipped mentally bask through the events. Something tightened in his chest, and he grimaced, looking back down at the floor.

"He pushed me out of the way of two guards. That was when." Heero said softly, his hands clenching into fists. Why? Why had Duo done that? His heart knew the answer, but he didn't want to face that. He didn't want to hope. Wufei was silent, and Heero glanced back up at Wufei, who had another one of those unreadable expressions on his face. It felt to Heero like he was losing his ability to read people, losing his edge. Maybe it was exhaustion, he thought, he hoped.


	4. Fan the Flames

None of them slept, every one in mission mode. High alert. It was several hours before any word was had. It came in the form of a doctor, and Quatre rose to meet the man. Once again, Heero was amazed at the respect Quatre received from the men around him. Heero rose as well at the approach, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the other two pilots rising. He schooled his expression into neutrality, and he suspected the other's doing the same. But they were all worried, he could tell. Heero stiffened, expecting the worst news. It had taken too long to get here; there had been far too much blood. They stood in silence, until Quatre broke it.

"How is he?" The blonde pilot asked. Heero was grateful for how Quatre phrased his words. Four sets of intense stares centered on the doctor, and Heero watched the man fidget.

"He made it through surgery. You pilots are made of strong stuff; we honestly were not expecting him to make it. His condition is still critical, but if he pulls through the next twenty four hours he'll recover just fine," the doctor reported, and Heero felt, rather than heard, a collective sigh of relief. Heero was torn on whether to ask to see him or try and remain indifferent. He was sure he had lost the effect of his mask around the other pilots by now, but it was so deeply ingrained in his person. Thankfully, Quatre saved him from having to make the decision.

"Can we see him?" Quatre asked. The doctor nodded and beckoned to them before turning back and heading through the doors. The medical area was small but well stocked, Heero thought as they walked through it. The doctor paused at a door, looking uncertainly at the pilots. Heero suspected he was looking at them as teenagers, not the full-fledged soldiers they actually were. It was Wufei this time who spoke.

"We are soldiers. Not children. Nothing beyond that door will harm us, we've seen worse. We've done worse." The Chinese pilot was irritated, irked enough for all of them. The doctor started and shrugged, motioning to the door.

"He's beyond there. There's a nurse standing by in you need anything," the doctor said, and then he fled. Heero could just hear Duo's dry comments on the man's behavior, and the inappropriate snickering. He turned to the door. No one had opened it yet, and he sensed the other pilot's trepidation. Despite Wufei's words, that was their comrade on the other side of that door. Their friend. Wufei finally made a noise of disgust which Heero suspected was more towards Wufei himself than anything else, and opened the door. He stopped dead, and blanched. Heero almost did not want to see what would unnerve Wufei enough for him to turn such a peculiar shade of white, but he had to know. It seemed so did Quatre and Trowa, and they bunched up behind Wufei, forcing the Chinese pilot to step inside. They all soon saw what had caused such a reaction in their fellow pilot. There was an audible gasp from Quatre, but both Heero and Trowa just stood silently.

They'd all been hurt, of course they had, but nothing like this. Nothing so severe. Heero clenched his hands into fists; he could feel his nails digging into his palms. He felt a hand descend on his shoulder, and by feel alone he could tell it was Trowa. Someone had closed the door behind them, at least giving them privacy. He turned his attention back to Duo. To Heero it seemed there were tubes and wires everywhere, but that wasn't what had disturbed him the most. The ventilator was what startled him. That was what had likely caused the reaction in the other pilots too. Heero broke away from the others and approached the bed; the braided pilot had at least been cleaned up. Heero didn't think he could have stood seeing more of Duo's blood spilled. There was a chair by the bed and he let himself fall into it, reaching out to touch Duo's face. He was so pale, and cold. But he was alive, and he was going to stay that way. Heero made a silent vow to himself to ensure that. He was barely aware of the others collecting chairs and settling around the room. He was thankful for their silent support. Heero finally steeled himself and carefully took Duo's hand in his own, clutching it like it was his only line to life. He hated how cold the braided pilot's hand was, but the calculating part of his mind knew it was from the blood loss. He still didn't like it. The only sounds in the room were the machines and the other pilot's breathing, they sat in such pseudo-silence for what seemed like a very long time to Heero. Occasionally Heero would reach up and smooth back Duo's bangs. Finally, he heard the other pilots stirring and standing up. It seemed by mutual agreement that they moved.

"Heero, we're going to sleep. One of us will come relieve you in a few hours," the blonde pilot said. Heero thanked whatever god was out there that Quatre could tell what everyone needed before they knew themselves. He acknowledged Quatre's words with a nod. Heero was soon left alone in the room. He didn't dare sleep. He stayed on guard, senses tuned to the door and the room, even with his attention on Duo. At least it gave him some time to sort his feelings out. Because clearly he had feelings for Duo. But he was uncertain about acting on them, he didn't dare jeopardize their mission, but any of them could be captured or killed at any moment, the whole incident proved that. And there was the matter of Duo's feelings, did the other pilot care for Heero? There was nothing like this in his training, nothing dealing with love, or feelings, or even emotions. Was it love? Was this what love felt like? Heero was so uncertain and unsure about it all, more so than he had ever been in his life. Was love the urge to protect something so dear to you so strongly because you couldn't dare lose it? Was it the fact that Heero's entire world seemed turned on its side? Was Duo even gay? Hell, was Heero himself gay? That, he supposed, he could ask Quatre. Because Quatre had Trowa, and, well, Quatre seemed to know just what was happening. But talking about his feelings with another living soul? That terrified Heero. His mind ran in circles, even as he stared at the wall in front of him. He couldn't, wouldn't, look at Duo too long, because his world tilted a little farther each time he did. He was terrified, truly and utterly terrified of losing Duo. He couldn't imagine a world without Duo Maxwell, without their, his braided idiot.


End file.
